Gaze No More in the Bitter Glass
by Leshachikha
Summary: A woman, in Hogwarts 800 years ago, loses her love to the Mirror of Erised. A sad, angst-ridden fic.


Title: Gaze No More in the Bitter Glass  
  
Author: Leshachikha  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Genre: Angst/Romance  
  
Pairings: Original/Original  
  
Summary: A woman in Hogwarts, 800 years ago, loses her loved one to the Mirror of Erised and its guiles.  
  
Disclaimer: The song at the end belongs to Loreena McKennitt and Yeats. The Mirror of Erised belongs to JK Rowling and scads of other people.  
  
A/N: Bitterness and angst galore! It isn't terribly well written, but it was on a whim. *shrug* You know how whims are, they come and go with no real sense of plot…^^  
  
Please Review! I'll give you a cookie!  
  
~*^*~  
  
1 Gaze No More in the Bitter Glass  
  
I cautiously crept into the common room, chewing my lip with anxiety. He was there, of course, staring into the fire with dark, unhappy eyes. A dark, uncouth wild of hair contrasted distinctly with his ashen skin and sharply angled face. His forehead was crinkled, in something resembling anger, even, as he sat in the armchair before the glowing embers, his chin resting on his curled fist. The flickering light made the heavy, purple bags beneath his eyes less apparent, but I knew they remained. They seemed a part of him now, a ghastly manifestation of his bitterness, and I could scarcely remember his smile.  
  
I bit my lip hard, drawing a metallic taste to my tongue, and raised my head high with a quick intake of breath. I strode across the room, my skirts and robes sweeping the rich claret carpets, and sat, with as much aristocratic dignity as I could muster, in a high-backed mahogany chair next to him.  
  
"It is late, love," I remarked presently, as the silence tore on my heart.  
  
He did not respond. His eyes remained cold and angry, flickering with the dying firelight. My hands clutched the arms of the chair with grief and rage. Oh! How I hated their white, bony fingers, splotched with the strain of my grip! How I desired to scream and cry and shriek my frustration to the world! But no, he was silent and I was silent.  
  
My heart pounded in my chest and my mind grew dim with frustration. He sat, staring into that awful, awful dying flame and I could not stand it anymore. "Why!?" I shrieked, springing from my chair. The concealed tears I had hid for so many months gushed forth and flowed down my cheeks in hot waves. "Why don't you love me any longer?!" I began to sob incoherently and fell to my knees before his seat, crying into my hands. He looked down upon me, and his eyes flashed once with emotion. But, O! it meant nothing! I saw fury flaming in their cores, nothing more! It was lost, my heart mumbled over and over, and I began to shiver. I felt so cold and closed my eyes in grief, to let the burning tears spill down my face.  
  
When I had controlled myself enough to raise my head once more, I saw that he had gone. I looked shakily around, my breath still coming in sharp bursts and dry sobs, but he was not in the common room. I stood, clutching the armchair for support and realized that the room entrance was open. Where had he gone? I wondered numbly and stumbled to the portrait hole. I warily pushed my head through the opening and saw the light of a lit wand turn the corner, steady and white against the tapestries and the blazing torches. I gasped and tripped out of the hole. Clutching my skirts to my hips I ran as softly as I could, not daring to cast a light for fear of my love seeing me. He was walking very fast, and I could scarcely keep up even though I was running. He turned corners quickly and wound through passages I had never known. I nearly came into a corridor where he was stopped, when I heard the whispered word "Alohomora," and clutched a stone pillar to stop myself. A door creaked open, so softly that my ears strained to hear it, then shut with a gentle click. I dashed into the hallway, barely registering that I had never walked here before, took the door lock in my hand and clumsily withdrew my wand. "Alohomora," I hissed between my teeth, holding the tip to the lock. The door opened smoothly, and I stepped through the passage, closed the door, locked it, and returned my wand to my robes. I could see but dim outlines and the light of my love's wand in this hall where no torches flamed. It was old and almost untouched, blanketed with dust and cobwebs. I ran to catch up, the point of light blurring in the darkness. I slowed, and crept up to the corner, cautiously glancing to see why he had paused. I could see him gripping at a painting, then ripping it free from the wall and flinging it away. He crawled through the hole it left and I walked, frightened, to gaze in.  
  
He had sat in the middle of the chamber, his wand blazing white. He stared, as though transfixed, at something. And, by the bright light of the wand, I could see it was a mirror, dusty and golden, with a strange inscription. Erised straeh ruoy tub ecaf ruoy ton wohs i. The Erised mirror! I had read about this glass in a dusty and cracked old volume that dated back to before the Founders and chronicled its creation. It was written by the mage who had developed the thing. He was a questionable and devious character, carried away by his own ingenuity and wove demons into the fabric of the glass. It showed the deepest desire of the gazer's heart and many had wasted away before it. Such was the fate of my love! My heart burst and I scrambled into the room, kneeling beside him.  
  
"Oh!" I cried, grasping his cold and pale hands. I pressed them to my cheek and kissed his trembling fingers. "Oh, please don't let it take you, my love," I whispered into his hand. He stared into the mirror, his eyes set on the demon-woven glass. I realized that tears were pouring again, but I didn't care. I took him in my arms, closed my eyes, and rocked him back and forth, sobbing onto his shoulder. When I opened them again, I saw that, however still his sight was, he was crying. "Don't let it take you," I moaned, kissing the salty tears from his cheeks. "Please, try, my love…" Unwittingly, I turned and stared into the demon glass. I began to cry anew.  
  
He was smiling and kissing me, his former self, his glory back. The bags were gone and his hair was neat. My love stood in the mirror, beckoning to me with his happy grin and healthily flushed face. I stood and walked to it, pressing my hands against the cold, cold glass. A tear streaked down it, hitting the golden frame and splotching the stone floor. I looked back at my love. He was quiet and frail, his face soaked with tears. Breathing in, I came back to him, and kissed his mouth, flushed red and hot with crying. I laughed, but it was a laugh of immeasurable grief. "Beloved, surely you wish not to look here again! I am real! I am warm! They are fantasies…they are but fantasies! All fantasies!" I clutched his head to my breast. "Gaze no more in the bitter glass!" I cried, and the sobs came. My desire was unattainable…it was fantasy…no more real than his vision. I would lose my one desire to the mirror that showed him his.  
  
  
  
~*^*~  
  
1.1 Gaze no more in the bitter glass  
  
The demons, with their subtle guile,  
  
Lift up before us when they pass,  
  
Or only gaze a little while;  
  
For there a fatal image grows  
  
That the stormy night receives,  
  
Roots half-hidden under snows,  
  
Broken boughs and blackened leaves.  
  
For all things turn to bareness  
  
In the dim glass the demons hold,  
  
The glass of outer weariness,  
  
Made when God slept in times of old.  
  
There, through the broken branches, go  
  
The ravens of unresting thought;  
  
Flying, crying, to and fro,  
  
Cruel claw and hungry throat,  
  
Or else they stand and sniff the wind,  
  
And shake their ragged wings: Alas!  
  
Thy tender eyes grow all unkind:  
  
Gaze no more in the bitter glass.  
  
Beloved, gaze in thine own heart,  
  
The holy tree is growing there;  
  
From joy the holy branches start,  
  
And all the trembling flowers they bear.  
  
Remembering all that shaken hair  
  
And how the winged sandals dart,  
  
Thine eyes grow full of tender care:  
  
Beloved, gaze in thine own heart.  
  
~W. Yeats, adapted to music by Loreena McKennitt.  
  
~*^*~  
  
Please review! 


End file.
